the direction of the Q.C., and the remaining portion oozed, in
yellow confusion, rapidly into her plate. Alas for that past
mistress of elegant dignity, Salemina! If I had been at Her
Majesty's table, I should have smiled, even if I had gone to the
Tower the next moment; but as it was, I became hysterical. My
neighbour, a portly member of Parliament, looked amazed, Salemina
grew scarlet, the situation was charged with danger; and, rapidly
viewing the various exits, I chose the humorous one, and told as
picturesquely as possible the whole story of our school of egg-
opening in Dovermarle Street, the highly arduous and encouraging
rehearsals conducted there, and the stupendous failure incident to
our first public appearance. Sir Owen led the good-natured laughter
and applause; lords and ladies, Q.C.'s and M.P.'s joined in with a
will; poor Salemina raised her drooping head, opened and ate a
second egg with the repose of a Vere de Vere--and the footman
smiled!



Chapter IV. The English sense of humour.



I do not see why we hear that the Englishman is deficient in a sense
of humour. His jokes may not be a matter of daily food to him, as
they are to the American; he may not love whimsicality with the same
passion, nor inhale the aroma of a witticism with as keen a relish;
but he likes fun whenever he sees it, and he sees it as often as
most people. It may be that we find the Englishman more receptive
to our bits of feminine nonsense just now, simply because this is